


His Lady Wife

by tendervittles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Choking, Consensual Kink, Consent Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:10:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tendervittles/pseuds/tendervittles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walda Frey - now Bolton - learns that belonging to the new Warden of the North can be both frightening and empowering - and that she is coming to enjoy both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Lady Wife

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Biter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biter/gifts).



> My Bolton Fic X Change submission! Prompt: Roose/Walda, tricks and treats.  
> Enjoy! <3

She may be young, but she is not naïve… she knows who he is, this man who chose her above so many others.  Siblings and cousins and others… the Twins have never lacked for beddable young maids.  But he chose her.  Not out for love or beauty, but out of calculated pragmatism, for so many piece of silver.

He is a dispassionate man, her Roose, as cold as the North, the land he now holds for the crown.  As his ancestors once did in times long past, he has won this desolate place from deceit, betrayal and murder.  She supposes she should be grateful her husband failed to present her with a wolf pelt—made from the flayed skin of a slaughtered Stark.

Yet somehow, she has endeared herself to him, and he has become dear to her, and now their bedroom games excite as well as frighten.

At the Twins, she was just Fat Walda, living in the shadow of prettier counterparts, with their slender waists and shapely bosoms. Even her Lord Grandfather offered only words of derision when Roose picked her, complaining of the cost.

Her joys back home in the Riverlands were few and simple—caring for the younger girls, her few gowns of lace and silk, whispering in the dark with Ami, as her older sister regaled her with tales of the men she’d had, grateful that the shadows hid the blush that would always rise, hot and pink, to her cheeks.

It was a simple life, and often difficult, but she had taught herself to be content and not to except too much. And now… it is almost _too_ much, this marriage.

There is no escape, and she is here in her lord husband’s fortress home, in the chambers their share, and she is Walda Bolton, lady wife of Roose Bolton, Warden of the North, the largest of the seven kingdoms…

_Kingslayer_.

The thought sends a shiver down her spine and it curls itself into the place between her legs.  The fear is still there, oh yes, but like Dornish spices stirred into a stew, it only adds zest to their coupling.

He tries something new, this night. The constant power struggles with his bastard have worked her husband into quite a state.

The blindfold slips over her eyes, smooth summer silk, and she doesn’t resist, doesn’t ask him what he’s doing, what his intentions are with her this night.  He offers no unprompted explanation.

A skeletal hand grips her shoulder, fingertips digging into soft flesh as he leads her to their bed.  She suspects she’ll have bruises there tomorrow.

He pushes her gently onto the featherbed, as carefully and cautiously as a lover—and he is not—she isn’t sure he even knows what love is—what they do in this room could not be termed “love” by any stretch of the imagination.

When she feels the icy blade of the knife against her cheek, she bites back a cry, even as she presses her cheek into the frigid metal. There is time for her squeals and whimpers to spur him on later.

Her dress parts easily; her Roose knows his way around a blade.  The chilly hair raises goosebumps on her skin, but then his hands are on her and she can only feel the heat rising in her groin.

His fingers trail across her smooth skin. The gesture lacks the tenderness most maids might associate with such an act.  She is no different than a deer or fox brought down during a hunt; a piece of meat, there to be inspected, poked and prodded, and judged.

She has been found worthy over and over and the memory of it still fills her with pride and something else—a dark excitement she never felt before giving herself to Roose in bed for the first time, blushing and sweet.

She may have been chosen first for silver, but she has proven herself to her husband and earned his attentions. Her sisters could never—she is made of sterner stuff than they could ever imagine.

And when her lord husband lays his belt across her thighs and buttocks, she does cry out, with the pain and pleasure that only the wife of Roose Bolton could ever know.  When her body is burning, he uses a salve on her, in the scent she likes, the one that keeps her skin clear and soft.  She never told him how she loves it, but she isn’t surprised he knows.  He misses nothing, she thinks, with delight.

Once he calms the fire raging across her battered flesh, he moves downwards, slipping two long fingers up inside her, reaching, searching the place that she hopes will allow her to bare him trueborn sons someday soon.

Then his other hand is at her throat and all thoughts of future heirs are lost as those same fingers pleasuring her below cut off her breath above.  Her sighs turn to low moans and she shudders, her body involuntarily drawing those fingers working her inside deeper still.

Her gasps usher him inside and they climax in quick succession, Walda first and then Roose, and she pays to the dark, mysterious Northern gods that this is the night and her moonblood will fail to arrive in the coming months, as her belly swells and her breasts grown tender.

He leaves her to clean herself up, as he always does, but she enjoys the time alone to reflect on her marriage and her life, such as it is.

Pain and pleasure.  A cruel man, who has also given her a new place. A cold land, but one day will one day belong to her son.  Pain and pleasure.  This is her lot and she has found power in it.  She was a child in the Riverlands—in the North, she is a woman grown, a wife, perhaps someday a mother.  She is worthy of all these things, and she will have them.  She will have the pleasure and the pain and she will hold it tight inside her and she will thrive.


End file.
